Introductions
by Carlier36
Summary: Nate and Sophie introduce themselves for the first time in Damascus.


Disclaimer: I do not own Leverage nor am I associated with Dean Devlin, Timothy Hutton or Gina Bellman.

**Introductions**

Damascus was always more beautiful at night. It could be dirty in the daytime, dirty, hot and rife with tension. But at night it came to life. Lights twinkled all around a fifth-story hotel terrace, barely illuminating the shape of a lovely brunette with a cigarette dangling from her fingertips as she stood in there in the dark.

Seized by a coughing fit, the dark-haired woman pressed her free hand over her mouth in an attempt to muffle the sound. She was relatively unsuccessful and a man appeared a few minutes later at the window a foot or two from her.

She jumped, spinning to face him, the cold night air giving her a flushed pink glow. "Oh, I'm sorry," she sighed. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"It was the coughing that did it. But it's okay. I could use the fresh air anyway," he smiled back good-naturedly, his American accent immediately catching her ear. _Boston_, she thought to herself.

"Sorry," she started to apologize again but broke into coughing again, waving her hand furiously.

He winced, glancing away. "You don't smoke, do you?"

Blushing, she cleared her throat. "No, I do. Just not… _these_."

He reached out and took the pack from her hand. "What's wrong with…" He trailed off, making a face at the cheap packaging. "Okay, point taken." Tossing the pack in a trashcan by the window, he took her cigarette and put it out before handing her a fresh one from his own pack. "Here," he said, silencing her protests.

Relief crossed her features and she took one of the long, thin European cigarettes from him, holding it up so he could light it for her. "You're a godsend."

The man chuckled, lighting one for himself and leaning on the windowsill, studying her. "So what has a lovely woman like you smoking cheap cigarettes on the terrace of a three-star hotel in the middle of the night? In Damascus?"

"Long day," she answered vaguely, casting him a sidelong glance of interest.

"I'm a good listener." He arched an eyebrow and she bit her lip slightly. He _was_ terribly attractive.

"My partner-"

Holding up a hand, he stopped her. "Partner?"

"Business partner. Not love." She smirked. "Very straight."

"Just making sure I'm not wasting my time," he grinned, motioning to her. "Continue."

"My partner sold a painting out from underneath me. Forgot to include me in the profits," she obliged with a bitter smile. "So I'm an art thief with no money, no prospects and no partner, at least not currently, he'll drag me back under eventually, trapped in Damascus indefinitely." She tensed suddenly and ran an appraising gaze over him. "You're not a cop are you? Or going to tell the cops a crazed art thief woke you up in the middle of the night and told you her life story?"

A smirk tugged at his lips, somewhere between sweet and cruel. "Promise." It wasn't really a _lie_ after all. He wasn't a cop.

"Good." She smirked, covering it with her fingers against her lips, cigarette balanced between them as she took a slow drag.

"I might have to tell all my friends though. I mean, it's a great story. Well, it could be."

She breathed out, sighing, smoke curling languidly around her. "Based on what, exactly?"

"On the ending of course. Every great story is determined by the ending." He followed the trail of a smoke ring around her with his eyes.

"And this one ends how?"

"You tell me. It can really only go a few ways: you break my heart, you wind up in my bed, both, maybe, we run away together and get married and live happily ever after…"

She chuckled in spite of herself, looking over at him with a grin. "You really are a great listener, Mr..." She trailed off in question, a teasing smile in her eyes.

"Stevens."

"Mr. Stevens." She 'mmm'ed thoughtfully, looking away for a long moment. "You know who I am, don't you, Mr. Stevens?"

"Of course I know who you are. And you know who I am. Hence the charade." He smiled ironically, still watching her though her eyes were firmly trained on the view. "Miss…?"

"Devereaux," she replied after a beat, her voice soft. She turned on her heel to face him. "Sophie Devereaux."

Surprise crossed his features. "Honesty is the best policy, hmm, Miss Devereaux?"

Sophie smiled. "No, but there's no sense in lying to a liar, Mr. Ford. Thanks for the cigarette." She winked and put it out on the railing before disappearing inside. There was no way he could make it out of his room and to the elevator before she was gone.

He smiled though. It still felt like a success.


End file.
